


At the Center

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M, spans the game without a specific route, spoilers for the ship in question, trans Caspar intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: For sixteen years and counting, Caspar and Linhardt lean on each other.





	At the Center

Shouts carry from inside. Like he can escape them, Caspar runs laps around the courtyard. This isn't a yard, it's the whole world—the ditch he hops over is a valley, while the fountain he splashes in is an ocean. By the time he's six, he'll smash every evildoer (ant) who threatens it.

At the center of his world, Linhardt sleeps under a tree, curled tight like a bush. Playing with Linhardt is hard. Father says not to bother, which makes Caspar want to do it more. Other adults warn Caspar to be careful with Linhardt, and sometimes Caspar remembers. He makes up games by himself, pretending a sorcerer cursed Linhardt to sleep for a hundred years, and Caspar has to fight a dragon to save him.

"Wake up! You're safe now!" he declares after wrestling the tree. Linhardt stirs, blinking up at Caspar with a little triangle of a frown before closing his eyes. Caspar collapses next to him, panting and laughing.

Linhardt crawls across Caspar's stomach, accepting the new napping place. Caspar pats his friend while nodding off. The world is large, and heroes need naps, too, even if he fights it every time.

* * *

With the shadows tall on the lawn, Caspar and Linhardt arrive at the locked classroom. Since coming to the Officers Academy, Caspar has been too excited to waste time in his room, and Linhardt is still up from the night before. He looks ready to fall asleep as soon as someone lets him inside.

Caspar paces the lawn, taking jabs at imaginary enemies. When he stands still, Linhardt takes the opportunity to rest his chin on Caspar's head, his weight slumped against Caspar's back.

"You know you're gonna have to start fighting soon, right?" Caspar asks. "How are you supposed to do that if you can't stand up without me?"

"Oh, no. I don't want to fight." Linhardt shakes his head, ruffling Caspar's hair as he does. "I'm just here to conduct research."

Caspar wouldn’t trade his best friend for anything, but training here is supposed to help him graduate from being his older brother's baby bro—help people forget they ever saw him as a different type of baby—and Linhardt using him as tiny furniture isn't helping.

He tries to shrug him off. "Linhardt, c'mon, you're too old to be hanging onto me."

"What does age have to do with it? Most people slow down over time. Most except you, that is."

"You got that right. And you always flop over like a fish when I dart off. So come on, get off me."

He's not sure why he's so jumpy, why tension crawls under his skin. Maybe it's the looks they've been getting. Their families have complained enough about their friendship for Caspar not to care what people think, but everyone acts like they understand something Caspar doesn't, and there's no way their new classmates know anything he doesn't about Linhardt.

With a sigh, Linhardt shuffles over to lie down beside a pillar. Caspar's mood dips as if he didn't ask for this. While he waits, he hauls his stupid, fickle body off to train.

*

After weeks of Caspar ducking away every time Linhardt uses him as furniture, Linhardt stops. That makes people give them a different weird look, so Caspar decides he doesn't care. 

It's not long before Linhardt approaches him after class with a proposal. "Your choice of weapons requires great upper body strength," Linhardt says. Caspar rolls his shoulder.

"Sure does. What do you think? Am I getting buff?" He flexes for Linhardt's inspection, which lingers long enough for Caspar to sweat. He's been sweating a lot these days, even when he's not training.

"Your muscle mass has slightly improved. Far from what anyone would consider 'buff.'"

Caspar's arm drops against his side, making him grimace. "Aw, it's not that bad, is it?"

"Considering the short time we've been here, no. So here's my proposal: In addition to your training, you should carry me around the monastery. After all, why waste time in transit not getting stronger?"

"That's true." Sometimes he just runs to class, but he's gotten in trouble for that, and he has to leave Linhardt behind to do it. "You're volunteering to be my weight?"

"Correct. I believe I weigh enough to slow you down without stopping you. Besides, walking all the way across the monastery tires me out."

Caspar has stopped listening. "Hell yeah, you wouldn't stop me. Watch, I bet I won't even slow down."

Without wasting a beat, he hauls Linhardt up and over his shoulder, grinning while Linhardt wriggles. "See? Like a sack of potatoes."

"You—you'll only train one side if you carry me like this."

Caspar ignores Linhardt's gasping and sets off—until Linhardt's height gets in the way, his clothes dragging on the ground, and Caspar has to stop to carry him in both arms. Though it feels weird, Linhardt seems more comfortable resting his head on Caspar's shoulder. He dozes off before they get back to his dorm.

Caspar toes aside a book to set him on his bed, which gets used less than people would think; it's a weirdly personal sight after seeing Linhardt asleep everywhere else. As always, he curls into himself, his hair mussed against the pillow, and Caspar looks away while he stretches out his arms and back. That _was_ a good work out—his arms and shoulders are burning. The rest of him is, too, but he feels great.

It takes years for Caspar to realize he's been duped. By then, he has more important problems.

* * *

After battle, they don't bother finding the healer's tent. Though Linhardt should help there, they drag each other into the nearest tent, which is stacked with supplies. Sticky with sweat and blood, they drop onto a pair of crates, and Linhardt fumbles to uncover the stab wound on Caspar's arm. 

The adrenaline of battle dips, leaving room for pain to lance through the injury. It oozes red over Linhardt’s thin fingers.

The lines of his Crest curve in the air. Caspar can’t analyze them like Linhardt, but Cethleann’s pattern always means he’s safe. Its glow feels like a second stab before it numbs him, the skin stitching together before his eyes as if it's not a part of him.

Linhardt barely closes the wound before pitching forward. Caspar catches him with an arm around his back, the fresh scar beginning to ache.

"Linhardt! Are you okay?" If he used too much magic, it’ll be Caspar’s fault for not dodging better.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just, so much blood."

It wasn't much. Caspar's gotten used to the smell of it, the stains it leaves, the way someone can be drenched in it but walk away while others die without losing anything. He wonders if this is how it is for his dad. And then he wonders, again, how someone who hates blood became a healer and Crest scholar.

He rubs Linhardt's back. "C'mon, you've gotta get over this."

"I won't. Please keep your blood inside you from now on, where I don't have to look at it."

"Don't worry. I'll just beat up our enemies before they can touch me. You won't have to look at _their _blood."

Linhardt has learned to cast his magic far enough to avoid the front lines. It lets Caspar charge forward, knowing that light will pick him up if he falls.

"Please do."

Linhardt keeps his head down, low enough for Caspar's shoulder to support him. Caspar rocks gently enough not to knock him around. Gone are the days of being demoted to chin rest, but just as Caspar thought he'd grow taller than Linhardt, he stopped. He's built his muscles since then, fired up at the idea of his body being stretched to its limit, but that doesn't give Linhardt a place to lean.

Not that he does it like he used to. They really are too old. Then again, it doesn’t matter now; on the march, even the toughest warriors need someone to prop them up. Nobody gives the pair a second glance, even though Caspar's starting to understand.

*

Some mornings, just as everyone's packing, Linhardt lies down with no intention to get up. What once might have annoyed Caspar terrifies him.

"We need to get moving."

The dirt muffles Linhardt's voice. "Just leave me in a ditch somewhere. I'll nap for five years and then join you."

Caspar crouches next to him, guarding his body from the soldiers streaming past. He doesn't remember to be careful as he shakes Linhardt's shoulder.

"You can't do that," Caspar says.

"Why not? There's precedence."

"I won't let you. I won't leave you behind, ever. We're getting through this together, or..."

Or nothing. There's never a plan B for Caspar, not like Linhardt, who waffles over contingencies. He can't stop to think about alternatives, or he—

He can't stop.

Linhardt picks up his head, dirt clinging to his pale cheek. "I can’t march. I’m too tired_, _and there's just going to be more fighting."

Caspar can tell when nagging Linhardt isn't enough. He scoops him up without asking. As a general, he carries too much not to just dump Linhardt over his shoulder. Linhardt doesn't complain.

As always, Caspar takes one step after another, bearing their weight.

* * *

Stripped down to his chest binding, Caspar sits against a tree in his courtyard, sticky from sweat he can't believe isn't blood. There wasn't a thief to catch or brawl to break up, so he settled for training. Ever since the war ended, he's been trying to get stronger without knowing why.

Beside him, Linhardt shifts, trying to find comfort between roots and rocks. He complains often about leaving his favorite napping spots behind. They've lost worse, but Caspar knows how he feels, rolling around in search of something.

Remembering to be careful, he lifts Linhardt's head and places it in his lap. By now he understands why he doesn’t care about the marriage prospects his house lines up. Linhardt tilts to look up at him, his face a little curious and a lot content, and Caspar tastes that peace Linhardt always seeks.

"Let's see the whole world," Caspar blurts.

Linhardt blinks slowly. "Why?"

"Aren't you curious what else is out there? What evildoers might be lurking?"

Linhardt closes his eyes. "I've had quite enough of those."

"I'll beat them for you. Then everywhere we go will be peaceful, and you can find places to nap."

"That sounds like a lot of unnecessary effort when we could just stay like this."

Seeing Linhardt so comfortable almost makes Caspar want to, but he knows they can't—he already feels like someone trapped under a cat, and the world is large, larger than he could have imagined. "Come on, I’ll be right there to lean on.”

Linhardt chews his lip before speaking. “Very well. As long as my favorite napping place comes with me.”

Caspar grins, thinking about resting on the top of some mountain with Linhardt's head against his chest, and he doesn't need a plan B.


End file.
